Nothing Extraordinarily Fascinating
by xXKanpekiXx
Summary: A spin off of the B.B. murder cases put here for critique. Please help!


Hola This is a prologue to a novel that I'm writing for National Novel Writing Month. Being as lame as I am, I decided to do a take off of the B.B. murders with a whole different plot and with MATT as the narrator instead of Mello. This in itself is not lame, but seeing as I'm incapable of producing anything serious that isn't crap, this story will no doubt be incredibly lame.

By the way, I have yet to decide on a name for the murders yet, so it's a big IDONTKNOW in their place. I'll change it...eventually. And I've submitted this for review. PLEASE HELP ME! I must warn you, since I do not intend to win the contest I'm entering, I have not made this story as wonderfully amazing as even the other crap I've written. I apologize.

Errr, without further ado, Enjoy?

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Before I really get started with my story, it would be best if I introduced myself first and foremost, as it would explain my fascination with this case. Not to say that the rest of the world wasn't intent on this tale; on the contrary, it was prevalent in the minds of millions worldwide, but you cannot get a taste for the pure mastery involved unless you know it the way I do.

L was a man to whom all words fail. Solving over 3,500 cases and responsible for the arrest of what could possibly be a third of the poor excuses for human beings rotting behind prison bars. Rightfully so, he was the center of focus for many enemies as well, only conceding defeat to one who, in my humble (but right!) opinion, cheated like the pathetic, desperate man that he was. The infamous serial killer "Kira" who infiltrated the Japanese Police Department under L's careful watch was the one attributed to the death of L. To this day, it still sickens me that L died at the hands of someone who hadn't the right to…I'm getting off topic. Back to L.

He truly was the world's greatest detective, no question.

Oh, wait, that's wrong.

He was the world's three greatest detectives, via identities gained through an intensive battle of wit. Both Eraldo Coil and Denavue were outwitted and, as we gamers like to say, "epic failed and were pwned by L." I assure you that while I'm fully versed in nerd speak and that is the language of most use to my daily activities, my fluency in it will in no way effect my narration.

Anyhow, the battle of the detectives is not something to be told here, no, it is too magnificent a thing to be expressed in this mere introduction. I devoted my life to L in a strange way and although not the decision was made for me, it is one of the sole joys of my otherwise miserable life. Not that anyone cares, but I thought I'd mention my upbringing as it does have a small relation to my story.

Like myself, L was raised in an orphanage created to rear prodigies. Well this was the goal of Wammy's House, my "home," but the focus was shifted from simply creating exceptional students to creating successors for L, so his legacy, while not fully fulfilled, could be preserved. Although Wammy's House has created some of the most brilliant minds of the new generation, even they have not managed to become everything the founder, Quillish Wammy, had envisioned. True, it is not our fault that our predecessor was a practically inhuman genius, but we still fall hard on the fact that his position is not even remotely in our reach. Just to try to shed some perspective on this situation, I should give you a little more information.

By the "tender" age of 13, I was fluent in English, Japanese, French, Spanish, and in the process of learning German. I could solve complex equations even the accelerate students tackled in college and I even concerned myself with programming computers. Reciting the exact dates and names of virtually every major war in modern history was nothing but an exercise for me, as I had nailed all of this information by age seven. All this from the pathetic excuse for a child who couldn't move past spot number three; it wasn't enough.

Once, my closest friend, and my only friend, Mello, made a snide remark after he failed to rise to the top of his class. It was not an overly important comment and it created no real impact, but I somehow cannot forget it.

"This is not an orphanage. This is a defective detective farm."

Like my comrade Mello, I've only met L once, when I was still very young, but it is a vivid memory that will never vacate my mind. While he was there, he told us three of his greatest ventures, but sadly, not of the story I am about to relay to you, as it had yet to take place. I know of this tale because I was trained to follow L, to take any scraps he left behind. I was his protégée of sorts, but that dream never came to fruition for me, as I could not surpass the two ahead of me. Not that I care now; I'm following in his footsteps in a different fashion. But at the time, I couldn't keep my eyes off of this case.

Maybe it was my desensitization at such a young age (those violent video games were my life aside from studying) that allowed me to tolerate the gruesome details of this case more than the other children, but whatever it was, it was damn strong as I remember each and every fact to this day. I'm talking, of course, about the IDONTKNOW murders.

Naturally, with such prestige, L had to take strict precautions to stay safe and anonymous, the least of which included only taking on cases with at least one million dollars at stake or 10 victims. It is simply illogical to assume that any case can conjure these extreme circumstances in a short amount of time, so it went hand in hand that any case worked on by L was vastly popular and, in most instances, omnipresent during the time.

But the IDONTKNOW murders?

No, this was different.

It met L's qualification in one measly week.

One could still argue that the timing of these homicides was simply for attention, but I know better.

It was not to get something as fickle as to catch the public's eye, but to get L's attention.

I'm very sorry, but I will not allow myself to reveal the nature or identity of the perpetrator. You see, it will ruin my chronicle of what may be the most fascinating thing you will ever read. Ah, I've forgotten myself again. Well, to assure that I don't stray any further from my purpose, I'll just do this now. Please forgive my haste.

I am Mail Jeevas, more commonly known as Matt and by not putting this down, you have been condemned to suffer through my horrid and lacking description of the work of a genius.

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Yeah, it sucks. Review please?


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